For what I saw at the abbey then (and will now recount) caused me to think that often inquisitors create heretics. And not only in the sense that they imagine heretics where these do not exist, but also that inquisitors repress the heretical putrefaction so vehemently that many are driven to share in it, in their hatred for the judges. Truly, a circle conceived by the Devil. God preserve us.

There are no stories without meaning. And I am one of those men who can find it even when others fail to see it. Afterwards the story becomes the book of the living, like a blaring trumpet that raises from the tomb those who have been dust for centuries.

The step between ecstatic vision and sinful frenzy is all too brief.

The followers must feel besieged.

I don't see the point of having 80 million people online if all they are doing in the end is talking to ghosts in the suburbs.

The light in her eyes was beyond description, yet it did not instill improper thoughts: it inspired a love tempered by awe, purifying the hearts it inflamed.

I would define the poetic effect as the capacity that a text displays for continuing to generate different readings, without ever being completely consumed.